


morgenkonzert

by orphan_account



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Birdwatching, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe making friends with birds is just something that happens in stories.</p><p>Fakir tries his best, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. morgenkonzert

**frühling**.

 

He hadn't noticed it at first. The lake had always been a popular spot for birds, after all. When you visited it as often as he did, birdsong tended to fade into background noise and flushing sparrows became just a nuisance. It wasn't until a robin flew right into his face that he'd realized something was up, and when he approached the lake, it seemed like the whole area alit suddenly with flapping and alarm calls, like a fire. 

When the feathers finally cleared, Ahiru was there, staring balefully at him.

"What?"

But she just gave an exasperated quack and tilted her beak in the air. Whatever he did, though, she couldn't stay angry at him for long. It probably helped that he'd brought her favorite cinnamon rolls from the local bakery, he thought as she happily took crumbs from his cupped hands.

He was a knight and faced his problems head-on, even if it was as small as a disagreement with a friend. But he was, more than that, a scholar and a writer. When in doubt, he turned to books. The library was almost like a second home to him by now, and after school that day he left the bird reference books with several field guides tucked under his arm and a suspicious feeling that he'd be seeing much more of this section in the future.

 

...

 

"The dawn chorus is most noticeable in spring. Songbirds may begin as early as 4 in the morning, the best time for sound to travel, as wind and other disturbances are at a minimum."

Ahiru cocked her head to one side and gave an inquisitive quack. He'd scared off an even larger flock this morning than he had the previous day, but there were still a few warblers and wrens hanging around in the branches nearby. One of the braver birds fluttered down to bathe in the lake's shallow shore. He lowered his book, tossed a small chunk of bread in its direction.

"If this is a timing issue, I can't really do anything about it," he said. "You know how early classes are, and the bakery runs out of your favorite rolls when I get out of school."

Ahiru flapped out of the water and approached his feet. He patted her head. She half-closed her eyes and made a small chirruping sound, and he never wanted to leave her side.

"I'm sorry for disturbing them. They can sing when I leave, right?"

She gave a shrug, but her answering quack was an annoyed one. A family of swallows suddenly veered down, skimming the water's surface like a delicate flock of dancers. He tried offering them a handful of breadcrumbs, but they chittered uncertainly at him and swooped away.

Ahiru gave a sigh, but happily accepted the snack when he tossed it at her feet instead. "Maybe you can let them know that I'm a friend," he said.

She fluttered one wing and chirped something that sounded like agreement. In the distance, he could hear the morning bell toll. Ahiru's feathers drooped, but he just stroked her downy neck and hefted his schoolbag to his shoulder.

"I'll see you later, then."

The duck waved a wing in goodbye, but he could already see mockingbirds and nuthatches and waxwings dropping down from the trees to fill his absence as he left.

 

...

 

She met him at the lakeshore this time, and she was human again. He'd almost forgotten how long and feathery her hair was, how delicately shy her smile. The tutu flared out from her waist like wings. When she offered her hand to him, clad in elegant elbow-length opera gloves, her grip was still as steady and sure as it'd been when they were underwater in the labyrinth, when he'd found out about her true nature after all.

He twined his fingers into hers. They danced, footfalls echoing over the water's surface in silvery ripples. Doves and goldfinches spiraled around them in clouds. She grinned at him, and he could barely breathe. Maybe, he thought, this was what it felt like to drown.

Maybe this was what it felt like to live in a fairy-tale fantasy. It was nothing but wish-fulfillment, and he knew it. He didn't think he'd realized it himself, but he'd always wanted to dance with her like this. Slowly, softly, without the weight of the story bearing down on them both... but he never had and he never would.

He lifted her to the sky and she was almost painfully light in his arms, like she would blow away in the wind if he wasn't paying attention. A canary fluttered above her head. The birds were familiar, somehow, but the feathers falling like snow were swan-white and glowed enough to rival her beaming smile.

She dipped down, wrapped her arms tentatively around his neck in a petal-light embrace. It would be so easy to kiss her, and he did.

The spell broke, and he woke up.

 

...

 

Ahiru was waiting for him again the next day, though she'd been lingering at the far side of the lake, head tilted up to admire the songbirds that circled above her in the canopy. He'd scared off a few more flocks in his entrance, despite his best efforts, and the sound of panicking twitters prompted her to glance over her shoulder in alarm, then relax and swim closer when she recognized him.

He waved a hand. "Yo. I brought breakfast."

The quack she gave in response was only vaguely reproachful, but she still hopped up on shore and peeked into the paper bag in his hands, pulling out a cinnamon roll with her beak. He smiled. "I know that you can fish for yourself. But it's fine to bring a treat for a friend, right?"

She just blinked. He lowered a hand to pat her head, and for the briefest moment her feathers were as soft and silk as her hair had been in his dream. Something caught in his throat, and he pulled back.

A hummingbird flashed in front of his eyes, did a tiny pirouette over the lake's mirror surface, then flitted away. It was like the breaking of a spell. He breathed again.

"You know, I think I finally recognize those birds now."

She cocked her head to one side, still nibbling at the bread roll. He pinched off a piece from another loaf and tossed it lightly to a sparrow that was venturing nearby, and for a second it just examined the food with a beady, critical eye. _It's not poisoned_ , he wanted to say, but refrained. Birds were flighty. It took time to win their trust.

"It's been a lot quieter around the dorms since you left. Funny, I used to be annoyed by how loud the birds were every morning. Now, though..." he reconsidered, watched as the sparrow cautiously pecked at a bit of bread, then jumped swiftly out of the way, as if it was afraid it would bite back.

"It's because they followed you here, right?"

Ahiru nodded excitedly, and something in her eyes hinted at her familiar smile. He ran a hand over the feathers on her neck, and she chirruped in lazy contentment.

"I thought as much. It couldn't just be for a dawn chorus." He scratched gently between her wings. "Ducks can't sing, after all."

She made an angry sound and pecked lightly at the back of his hand. He jerked away, then flicked at the stray feather atop her head. "I'm just telling the truth, idiot."

"Quack," she said, and turned away, sticking her tail in the air. A titmouse fluttered cautiously down beside her to study the piece of bread she'd left behind. He shifted slightly, though, and it took off again to the safety of the sky.

"You fed them every morning, didn't you? Just like I'm doing for you now. I always thought that they were loudest around your window." He ran his last few words through his mind again, then felt his face redden. "Not that I was paying attention to your window, obviously."

If a duck could laugh, she'd be doing it. As it was, she just squeaked as he prodded reproachfully at the back of her head. It was almost a relief to leave when he heard the clock tower chime, but he couldn't help slow his pace somewhat as he looked back over his shoulder and saw more birds descending to join her when he was gone.

 

...

 

"They just don't seem to trust me, no matter what kind of bread I bring."

Ahiru glanced up at him, pausing as she held a small crust of bread in her beak. He sat down on the wet grass by the shore, brushed a hand against the dewy leaves of clover. The sky ruffled with silver clouds. It looked like it might rain soon. Maybe, he thought, that was why she looked even more cheerful than usual today.

"How did you do it?"

She hopped up on his knee and sat down, a warm presence, soft as a puff of down. Her wings stretched out slightly before her, curling delicately inwards, as if for a hug. He was forcibly reminded of her mime, that day in front of the old theatre, but he shook his head and just glanced at the gesture dismissively.

"What's that supposed to be?"

An indignant quack. She folded her wings back and pecked at his wrist, like she did whenever she was annoyed with him. It seemed to be happening more and more often, he thought.

A cardinal, proudly scarlet, flapped down a few meters away from him, but just as quickly took flight again when he looked over in its direction. He turned back, frowning slightly. It felt like failing a test, somehow. Maybe they could sense something within him that he couldn't.

"Maybe making friends with birds is just something that happens in stories," he said.

Ahiru fluttered up to his shoulder, her tiny feet curled into his dress shirt and her feathers painfully soft against his cheek. He stroked her neck, felt her lean into his touch. For just a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and picture her russet hair, her pale skin and sunshine smile.

But then he felt her shift underneath his hand and saw her looking skyward, again, to the robins and goldfinches calling overhead. Something seemed to flicker in her small body. She arched her neck, rustled her wings as if restless for flight.

There must've been things she missed in her life as a duck. After all, that was her true self. She must've known much more of the water and the sky than he ever would, and he'd never be able to understand. Now that she was a bird again, she'd be able to return to them. But he didn't think he would ever be able to stop missing Mytho or Rue or Uzura or the girl Ahiru had been.

The prince and the princess returned to their fairy tale. The spell broke, and the girl turned back into a bird. The knight was supposed to have died, but he was still here, still alive, and despite the story's ending he couldn't help but sense that he'd been left behind.

Wings and birdsong echoed above them both. Ahiru stretched her neck upwards towards them, then started suddenly when he patted her head.

"I'm glad that you're still friends with other birds."

She glanced over at him, rubbed her cheek against his. He smiled, but something hollow pulsed in his throat. Maybe this was what it felt like to lose a heart.


	2. sturm

**sommer**.

 

Water. Why did it have to be water? It was probably a cosmic joke of some sort, and he was the butt of it.

The worst part was that she seemed to be totally oblivious to the whole thing. She laughed, she rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment as he tried not to notice the way loose strands of her unruly braid stuck to her pale throat, the way her wet bangs fell before sky-blue eyes. She'd had a hard time rolling her white stockings up, and now the ruffles and sheer fabric wrapped itself even more to her bird-like shins, half-transparent, beaded with leftover moisture.

It was getting difficult not to stare as she babbled something about walking to school and having a pot fall on her head out of nowhere and quacking in surprise and rushing to the river as soon as possible and hopefully Cat-sensei wouldn't drop her to the probationary class again or worse, marry her. His eyebrow twitched. She toyed with the cuffs of her sleeves, the way she sometimes did when she was nervous. Drops of water slid down her wrists and elbows, and he swallowed a dry throat.

Cat-sensei probably proposed marriage to her more often than any other student in school, she admitted miserably. Her jacket stuck to her shoulders--he could see he outline of her delicate collarbones, could see her normally-puffed skirt cling intimately around the tops of her thighs as she walked. He wondered if Cat-sensei would even be able to resist another pounce.

Maybe it was a better day to skip school. He grabbed her hand, breaking her stride as she glanced back over her shoulder in surprise. Her pulse fluttered like wings underneath the skin of her wrist. When he leaned in to kiss her, he could feel droplets on the tips of her eyelashes as they fell shut against his.

He woke up with the same wetness on his cheeks. The full moon glowed from outside the window, like a ghost. It'd take a while, he thought, before he could ever look forward to dreaming again.

 

...

 

It didn't rain, but it poured. He'd brought a raincoat and held an umbrella over Ahiru's head as she picked halfheartedly at soggy bread, but he was still thoroughly soaked by the time he'd made it to school. The weather in Gold Crown Town was generally rather mild, though. Maybe it would clear up when classes were over.

Or maybe it wouldn't. By the time the evening bell rang, thunder was roaring in the distance, and the rain had somehow learned to fall horizontally. He tried halfheartedly to wring out his dripping ponytail before visiting the lake again, not that it helped at all.

The birds were silent, and only flashes of huddled feathers in the trees even hinted at their presence at all. But Ahiru was still there, splashing happily in the shallows and perking up as he drew near.

"Hey," he said, patting her head when she hopped up towards him. She chirruped a cheerful response. Somehow, he'd been expecting her feathers to be wet and sticking to her back, just like her clothes did whenever she entered water and turned human again...

"It looks like it's going to storm all night," he said, searching his pockets for bread even as he knew he didn't have any. Force of habit. "Are you going to be okay here?"

She dipped her head in a nod, but he frowned. It might've just been the rain, but there seemed to be something different about her now. He smoothed a hand over her folded wings, and though she glanced back to watch him and pecked questioningly at his knuckles, he still couldn't really figure out what it was.

A flash of lightning blazed through the sky, suddenly. She blinked. He realized that he'd already moved to shield her from danger, on impulse, but withdrew from his protective embrace around her small body.

"You're welcome at my place. It'll be warm and dry."

She seemed to consider this for a moment, but he couldn't suppress a shiver as rain dripped down his collar and the back of his neck. The city had probably been overdue for a storm like this, he thought. Constant fair weather was a storybook phenomenon, wasn't it? He sneezed.

Ahiru gave a surprised quack and fluttered a wing against his knee. He waved it away. "I'm fine, idiot. Worry more about yourself."

She shook her head, but seemed to come to a decision, and determinedly reached a wing out for his hand. Did he really look that pitiful?... but, in this case, maybe it was worth it. He gathered her up in his arms.

They went home.

 

...

 

He left her to her own devices as he took a shower, though he couldn't stop his mind from wandering as he closed his eyes to the warm water. How many times did he have her over, anyway? It couldn't have been that many, but, somewhere along the way, her presence had become natural. He'd been accustomed to her, just as he'd been to Uzura's drum, to Mytho's constant, quiet support.

Uzura and Mytho were gone now, though. And, in a way, so was she. But that was fine, after all. That was the way things were supposed to be.

She was sitting on the windowsill when he returned with a towel on his head, but she squawked in surprised indignation when he dropped it onto her back and tried drying her off as well. Her temper sometimes made it easy to forget how delicate her bird's body could be, though he never did. He'd seen her injured too much for that.

"Stop flailing. You'll catch a cold."

But the words sounded ridiculous even as they left his lips. Could ducks drown? Was it even possible for them to catch a cold? Ahiru gave an angry quack and continued to struggle out from under the fabric, flapping back to her perch near the window and giving him a suspicious side-eyed glance over her shoulder.

The look hurt. He dropped the towel. "Sorry."

She made an offended-sounding noise, and he let out a sigh. He took a seat next to her, where the rain continued an unrelenting attack on the glass pane.

"I was just worried for you," he said.

There was the briefest moment of pause before she turned back to him, shaking her head. He frowned, but reached out to pat her neck. This time, she didn't shy away.

"Don't be?"

A nod. He rubbed his temples, exhaled in exasperation. Honestly, that was too much to ask. He'd hoped that she knew that already. Sometimes, it seemed, she could be a little too oblivious for her own good.

"I can't not worry," he said.

He should've been embarrassed. There should've been some hesitation. But the wind outside was keening like a dying bird and the cloud-darkened sky was as black as it'd been that fateful day the raven had reawakened and blocked out the heavens with dreading wings. Thunder was a loud and heavy heartbeat, far away. Ahiru fluttered down to his lap.

She was so small. He could fold both hands over her body, feel her rapid-fire bird's pulse whir in her chest like wind-up clockwork. But he hadn't quite managed to protect her when she was a princess or a girl, and he wondered if he even could now that she was a bird again.

Lightning clawed across the windowpane like knives, but she stared out the glass with an unreadable, animal's expression. There was something in the arch of her thin neck that hinted of flight. She stared up at the storm sky like she had to the other birds in the lake's dawn chorus, and her wings flexed underneath his fingers as if anxious for takeoff.

Ducks were waterbirds. They braved storms and rains every day. She'd probably seen worse, back when she'd lived in a different lake, before she'd entered the story. Her feathers were waterproof. What was he thinking, trying to dry them? She didn't belong here anymore, and he couldn't continue to try to pretend that she still did.

"I miss you," he said, but he didn't know what he was trying to do any more besides trying to cage a free bird in the prison of his protection.

 

...

 

There were times he was afraid that he'd forget the sunset color of her hair, the tiny curve of her lips when she smiled. And then there were times she turned that smile to bear on him like the sun, and he wondered if it would ever be possible to forget at all.

"Are you trying to write a story?" she asked.

No, he started to respond, but there was a pen in his hand and rough reed paper underneath his fingertips, though he didn't know how they got there. His mouth was dry. She clapped her hands together, beaming at him expectantly, and he knew he could never refuse her anything.

"I think so," he said. She leaned over his desk to study the blank paper with a quizzical look, one finger tapping her own cheek in a thoughtful gesture. He had the sudden, strangest impulse to snap at her, to grab her wrist to get her to stop. It was distracting.

"What is it going to be about?"

I don't know yet, he wanted to say. But that wasn't what he actually did say. His pen was already scrawling across the paper, almost of its own accord, like it had under Drosselmeyer's control when Ahiru had faced the lake of despair...

"It's about a knight and a princess," he said. "A writer and a duck." The words materialized on the parchment like magic, the ink as dark as raven's feathers. _Once upon a time_. They were immortal opening words to every story, even, apparently, his and hers.

Ahiru turned her wide-eyed gaze towards him again, but her voice was a little more hesitant, more uncertain. "Does it have a happy ending?"

He didn't have an answer. The foreground shifted and blurred together, as if under an artist's inexpert brush. Library walls melded into sidewalk cobblestones, into the grassy shore of Ahiru's lake, then, finally, the stone-scattered field of the spinners' oak tree. For a terrifying moment, his feet felt rooted to the ground again, and he had the sensation of leaevs blossoming from his fingertips.

The pen dropped from his fingers, but she replaced it with her warm hands, gripping onto his like a lifeline. Something warm emanated from her like a fire's glow. There had been something hollow fluttering in his throat for a long time, but the light of her smile held it at bay, if only for a little while.

"I thought that I was fine with you becoming a bird again," he said, with forced steadiness. "But now I'm not sure if that's actually true."

She smiled with an almost infuriating certainty. "I think it is."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to grab her collar, ask her how she could be so sure. He wanted to erase the hopeful grin from her face, wanted to shake her shoulders for leaving him, wanted to embrace her and yell at her and kiss her and squeeze her hand and never let her go. But her grip was already gone from his, and there were feathers circling her in a strong gale.

"You're strong, Fakir." She closed her eyes briefly, smile turning faintly nostalgic. "I've always trusted in that strength. In you. You'll trust in me, too, right?"

"Of course," he said, but he didn't know if he was lying to himself or not. She didn't seem to notice, just wrapped her wings around him in a grateful hug, her lips feather-light against his cheek.

"Thanks, Fakir."

The clock struck midnight, and the spell broke again.


End file.
